


let us cling together

by brinnanza



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gratuitous Plant Metaphors, M/M, this is so hecking soft you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: He finds Crowley in bed, asleep even at this late hour. It’s hardly much of a lie in for a being who’d once slept through most of a century, though perhaps quite an extended one for a being who doesn’t really need to sleep at all.





	let us cling together

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt on the [tadfield advertiser prompt meme](http://tadfield-advertiser.dreamwidth.org/517.html) that asked for aziraphale going to crowley's place late in the morning, finds him still in bed, and ends up cuddling with him. the result is probably the Softest thing I've ever written
> 
> title is, of course, from queen's teo toriatte.

Cowley’s flat is quiet despite the bustle of the city beyond its walls, just the low hum of electricity and the muted sounds of traffic. Sunlight spills in through the tall windows, bathing all the plants of Crowley’s little Eden. The ferns and flowers and vines reach for it like a hundred outstretched hands begging to know the warmth of contact, if only for a moment.

Aziraphale trails a finger along the broad leaf of a rubber plant as he passes. It stretches its leaves toward him, longing for more of the divine to soothe its terror, but Aziraphale continues along. Crowley will only tell him off for coddling them, undoing all the long hours spent teaching them the fear he denies lives in his own heart. Aziraphale spends his years coaxing it out of Crowley, little by little, like the first delicate sprout from seed, and he hopes one day the plants and Crowley both will know peace.

He finds Crowley in bed, asleep even at this late hour. It’s hardly much of a lie in for a being who’d once slept through most of a century, though perhaps quite an extended one for a being who doesn’t really need to sleep at all.

Crowley’s on his stomach, silk sheets tangled and twisted around him like serpents, evidence of the restlessness that lingers within him even as he sleeps. A lock of hair has fallen across his face, and it flutters in his deep, even breaths. Here too, sunlight spills in through the windows. It lights Crowley’s bare skin bronze, paints him in shades of gold to rival Phidias’s own Wonder of the Ancient World. Aziraphale might have thought of Heaven once, the warm glow of the divine, but all he thinks of now is the golden center of a morning glory turning its face up to the dawn.

There is nothing angelic in Crowley’s sleeping form, but he is beautiful, all long limbs and soft skin, the marble cut of his cheekbones pressed into the pillow. His lovely eyes are hidden, as are his wings, but the patch of inky scales that runs along his supple spine are visible, iridescent in the sunlight. They are silk-smooth, Aziraphale knows, cool to the touch until they have absorbed Aziraphale’s own body heat when they lie together, skin to skin. He wonders if they are sun-warmed now, if the serpent in Crowley has remained here to bask in the heat of the approaching noon.

“You gonna stare at me all day?” Crowley mumbles, eyes slitted just enough to watch Aziraphale’s indulgent smile. He reaches a hand toward Aziraphale, stretching toward him like the plants in his garden to the sun, and Aziraphale allows himself to be drawn in, as inexorably as the tide. He laces his fingers with Crowley’s, and Crowley tugs, reeling him in.

Aziraphale climbs into the bed, and Crowley twines himself around him. He presses himself alongside the whole length of Aziraphale’s body, every inch the cold-blooded creature seeking warmth he once was in Eden. He settles his head to rest upon Aziraphale’s breast and hums like the softness of his plush bed cannot possibly compare. Aziraphale can feel his steady breath on his collar bone, feels the heat that radiates down every place they touch. 

There is surely something divine in this, Crowley’s contented little sigh when Aziraphale runs his fingertips over Crowley’s spine, in this one crystallized moment in time as the world continues without them for a little while.

Aziraphale tips his chin down to brush his lips against Crowley’s temple. Crowley tightens his grasp, holding onto Aziraphale like the world might spin away without him, and there is so much love in Aziraphale that he can’t breathe around it, so much inside of him that it should spill out, filling up the room and the flat beyond, enough to fill up the entire world and the heavens above. It can only be divine, spanning the whole of time and into the eons ahead, endless. Aziraphale wonders blasphemously if this is how God feels when She gazes upon creation.

He doubts even God could love so much.


End file.
